These Little Things
by navy face paint
Summary: PostHogwarts. Harry's thoughts about the war and life afterwards. Inspired by the movie trailer for GOF.
1. So long and goodnight

"_Harry," He said, his voice showing how tired he was, "soon we must face the choice between what is right…and what is easy."_

What is easy, anyway? Easy and life shouldn't be in the same sentence. It should be outlawed. In fact, all dangers to life should be outlawed and therefore nonexistent. But, we, as humans, cannot do that. We have no such power over the universe. We are all mortal. And as mortals, we all succumb to mortal sins, and when we do, we create havoc and misery in the world.

One man did that. He was shadowed. He was lead into temptation because of who he is and was. He overshadowed the world, crushing it in his hands inch-by-inch, killing and breaking families as if they were nothing but weeds.

I look to my newborn daughter, so small and red from birth, and thank god he never made it this far. Yet, he did. My wife was taken as my daughter came into the world. His spell hit the spot, just below the shoulder. Nothing happened at first, but, slowly, she deteriorated. In pain. Always in pain. Some nights she would beg me to help her and I knew I couldn't. I would dream for the cure. Something for her pain. To kill it before it killed her. And it came; it came through our daughter.

I knew it then when we made love that night. Her pain was almost nonexistent as was my desire to hurt her if we did do it. After that night, there was no more pain. None. She lived happily in those short eight months. Then it began again, one night after dinner with her parents. The pain would slash through her heart, through her veins, through the tiniest tear.

They say a dream that really comes true cannot truly be called a dream. And they're right. It wasn't a dream. I can't even explain what it is. I don't really know myself.

They carted away my wife, her delicate face covered with a bloodied sheet. The doctors had grave faces, emotionless as they spoke to me. I couldn't, wouldn't hear them. I wanted to be alone, somewhere far away, far from the pressures of life her, my daughter. I couldn't look at her tiny green eyes, my eyes. Already she reminded me too much of her mother, of how she would look at me with that sparkle in the corner of her eye. And when I did look at her, I cried.

Why did Gin have to die? She did nothing wrong. She only stood by me when I needed it, loved me, too. Why couldn't the girl die? Or me? She's replaceable and I would die knowing I did something right. Ginny isn't.

My feet pounded against the cold hard floor, taking me away from my wailing daughter. I didn't care if she went hungry or choked herself with her cries. It didn't matter anymore; nothing did. I don't know what time it was when I stopped. But, I was alone. That was what mattered the most. It was silent, well almost. I was in a park. It was dark, the moon casting shadows over everything. I could only hear my feet click against the cobblestones and the crickets singing their dusk melody. The wooden bench creaked as I sat down, my elbows resting against my knees, my face buried in my calloused hands. It was only a few minutes before I was disturbed; heavy thumps of boots coming down the lane.

"Harry-"

It was Lupin.

"Harry, you shouldn't run off like that and leave your daughter behind."

I didn't say anything. I was thinking, almost in a meditative trance.

"Harry, I know you've gone through much tonight, but you need to get back to the hospital."

I shrugged, staying silent.

"Harry, be reasonable now."

I didn't need anything. I didn't need to do anything. I didn't need to be reasonable with anything. The world needed to be reasonable with me after all I did for it, for all I sacrificed for it. What I need is to die. I wanted to die. I wanted this since sixth, fifth year at the earliest.

I could hear him shout at me; rave, but I couldn't understand him. I didn't want to. Nor did I care. I drifted into myself, closing my mind to anything else. Quickly. I heard a whistle cut through the air and felt a hand grip my shoulder. The hand shook me roughly, my hands falling away from my face.

"Harry, listen to me. I know you're in pain. I know you hate this. But you have to be strong, for your daughter. She's all you got left. Take care of her."

He whispered harshly. His eyes met with mine, fierce with unrelenting anger.

"Think of Ginny. What would she say if she saw you now, here in this park ignoring your daughter? Her daughter."

That got me; hit me in the wound created by losing Gin. Tears of shame sprang from my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. I was pulled into a tight hug. My arms wound around his waist, shoulders shaking violently as I cried. I cried for Gin. I cried for my parents, Sirius, and the millions who perished in the two wars. I cried for myself. I don't know how long I cried for, but I could tell it was long because I was tired afterward. I was led back to the hospital, down the long darkened corridors, and into a room. My daughter was there; fast asleep in the arms of my best mate, Ron. I could see the anger in his eyes as I walked in. I gave him a meek smile, but he turned away from it.

"So you came back?" He asked sharply. I only nodded. "About damn time" He smiled; it was forced, filled with fake happiness. He held the tiny bundle towards me. Unsure what to do, I offered my arms. He placed the bundle into them. I almost dropped her then. She was so warm and lively. I could hear the door close behind me faintly. Silence ensued. Coating the entire room with its pureness. My daughter made a noise. I jumped about in inch, looking around me wildly until I figured out it was only her. Her brilliant green eyes were open, her tiny mouth twisted in discomfort. She mewled piteously.

"_She's hungry."_

I could vaguely hear the door open behind me. Clicking boots followed the doors creaking shut, and a soft voice called out: "Sir, it's time to feed-"

"I know." I cut whomever it was off sharply, and took the bottle away from their grasp. I saw tiny, pale fingers drop as I pulled the bottle away. My eyes traveled up that hand and arm, stopping at a face. It turned out to be a woman. A young mediwitch, in fact; maybe two, roughly three years younger than myself. Loose curls framed her heart-shaped face; brown eyes twinkled merrily behind thick bangs that fell, coming just a centimeter short of her pale lips. She hand wavered over my own, showing me how to hold the bottle, and showed me how to feed her, coaxing me to hold it higher every time I let the bottle drop too low. We, all three of us, sat in the strained silence until she coughed, glancing up from the spot of the floor she had watched so intently earlier.

"Sir, I'm Sarah. I was sent to stay with you until you got the hang of caring for your daughter." She spoke up after a long strained silence between us. I didn't say anything, I held my gaze with my daughter as if she hadn't spoke. "I know it must be hard to lose your wife like that, Sir. I lost my gran when I was six."

I snorted. That wasn't helping. This wasn't like loosing a favorite Gran, this was like having your heart wrenched out, having a chunk torn off, and sewed back in place with a rusty, diseased needle. She must have heard my snort because she snorted herself, pale lips turning downward in distaste. The tiny babe in my arms wiggled, telling me she was done with her bottle. The nurse- Sarah- took the bottle away and slipped out the door quietly, avoiding contact with my eyes. I moved her to my shoulder, patting her back awkwardly. I heard a tiny burp, a signal she was finally done. I stood there, her held against my shoulder, slumbering quietly. It seemed like minutes before the door opened again. It was Sarah; she was carrying two duffel bags, one I had brought earlier and another I couldn't identify. In her hands she held thick sheets of paper, a bottle of ink and an eagle feather quill.

"You do have to name her, you know." She drawled out quietly, eyeing the sleeping child on my shoulder.

"I know that."

"Then put her down, or give her to me." She whispered, setting the bags beside the bed and the papers on a desk a few yards from the bed. I looked from the tiny cradle to the bed, unsure of where to put her.

"The cradle perhaps?" She offered, seeing the uneasiness in my eyes. Lips pursed, I settled babe down in the mound of soft downy covers. She didn't take notice of the change and slept on. Fussing with the covers of the cradle, I tucked her in.

"She'll be fine, promise me. No child has died of freezing to death in my watch." Sarah whispered, looking over my shoulder with a grin about her pale lips.

"How…comforting." I muttered quietly, brushing past her as I walked to the desk.

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Yeah, okay, hi. Let's get this straight. I. Own. Nothing. But. The. Ramble. Crap. Miss Rowling owns everything you know of and Copyrighted by WB. Sarah belongs to my dear friend, Nicki, who resides somewhere else, but nonetheless, she owns Sarah like she owns my insanitywhich she, Jazz and Sasha caused. Hah, anyway, I do expect flames. I'd be extrememly shocked if no one flamed this. Really...who wouldn't want to bitch me out for this piece of crap? The mentally handicapped I tell you. And, you know, I don't care about flames. Every once in awhile I'll actually get a flame that helps me see whatI did wrong and how to fix it, not insult me. I like those, but what are the chances? I. Write. For. Myself.

Ah, and I might continue this. High school is hell, so time will tell.

Bye. 3


	2. Ceiling musings

----Chapter two----

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It must have been hours since I had sat down to the desk because the window above my head had turned pink in color. I turned to my right and gazed into the crib. My daughter, now named Ginerva Lillian (Gin for short), was sleeping on her back peacefully, just like her mother. I grinned sadly and turned back to my papers. Hastily, I scribbled my initials on another and the last dotted line. The eagle feather quill dropped from my hand and landed on top of the papers with a soft clunk. Finally, I was done.

Behind me, the door creaked loudly. I winced and looked over to the crib fearfully. Gin hadn't moved a muscle. She gave a small snort, kicked out, and became motionless again.

"Oh, that was loud wasn't it?"

"Oh, no, no, she just moves for no apparent reason."

Sarah rolled her eyes as well and sighed, closing the door quietly with the toe of her shoe. "Yeah, okay, whatever. Sandwich?"

"What?" I blinked, turning to face Sarah. I want a what? And _why_?

"Do. You. Want. A. Sandwich? Saaaannnndddwiiiiiiiichhh? " Sarah replied slowly, as if I were a slow, mentally handicapped man that had forgotten what food was entirely. "You know, the thing made of bread, usually veggies, meats and ch-"

"I know," I snapped curtly. I stood up, and, in one long stride, stood next to her. "I know what a sandwich is, thank you."

Sarah just grinned and dumped the sandwich into my hands.

"Good, now eat. You won't be doing that today with such a lively baby on your hands."

"Right."

The sandwich didn't look so…appealing. Mayonnaise was ripping down the sides, little tufts of lettuce and multi-colored cheese poked out from under the bread. I must have made an unpleasant face because Sarah snorted loudly and ripped the sandwich away from my hands and turned away.

"You _could_ have told me you didn't want it."

"B-"

"No, no! No need to explain. I'll just go and take the sandwich with me…and-and-and...let you do…something."

"B-"

Sarah didn't answer. She had walked out of them room by the time my second broken 'but' was uttered. I sighed exasperatedly and rolled my eyes towards the white ceiling. Most people usually find patience hidden inside the plaster that makes up the ceiling. And most people talk to the ceiling if they can't find the patience they need. But I am not like most people. I haven't found a shred of patience in the ceiling, nor am I going to start talking to it. I can't risk Gin's silence for patience.

A soft gurgling stopped my thought train. I glanced over my shoulder and grinned. Gin was awake and as lively as Sarah called her earlier.

"Hey," I whispered, padding over to the crib. "Hey, how're you?"

Little Gin blinked and tilted her head, ceasing her gurgling. I tilted my head as well, almost mocking the infant's expression. Could she- nahh…ludicrous.

"Well, obviously you're doing fine. You're not screaming or squirming for that matter. Speaking of which, you've got a nice set of lungs there kid. You probably got that from-from-from…"

My throat started to tighten on me. I couldn't get 'mother' out. It was too hard. Losing Ginny is still a fresh memory, and it hurts. I stumbled on for a few more seconds and finally said 'yeah' quite lamely.

Gin started to gurgle again and closing and clenching her tiny fist. Well...maybe she is more like her mother than I had originally thought. Now Gin was whimpering, squirming, and scrunching her face up tightly. Oh, this isn't a good sign.

"No, shush, don't cry Gin, please? Please? Your daddy is only asking you to do this now and you can cry all you want later. Please?" I pleaded with my daughter, who was still whimpering.

_Maybe she wants to be held. _

Of course! That must be what she wants. I scooped her tiny body up quickly and cradled her against my chest. Gin stopped whimpering instantly, and, instead of squirming, cuddled into my shirt. I grinned softly and pulled her closer. Maybe, just maybe, having this baby wouldn't be so bad. But like many good things in life, our touching moment was ruined.

"Mr. Potter! Be careful, she's not a snitch, you know. It's not healthy for a child to be grabbed like that."

Ahh. Sarah is back. All nice and fluffy...outraged.

"Not a snitch?" I asked, looking down to Gin, who yawned. "You sure?"

"Very sure."

"Quite sure?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, quite sure."

"Right. Not a snitch. Right."

There was a shot period of silence. Then Sarah spoke up again.

"Mr. Potter?"

"Yeah?" I looked up, cocking my head to the side, somewhat curious.

"Shut up."

"Right, right."

* * *

There. Another chapter… a day after I posted the first. That _is_ a new record for me, I swear. I think it's a bit short, but…oh well. You guys don't mind, right? Right. Of course not. Once again, I own nothing! I only own the crappy plot. The little snitch thing was inspired by a piece of fanart I saw...and I forgot whoever did it, but thank them for that…I can promise you the next chapter won't be out tomorrow or the next day for that matter. Maybe Friday… Maybe. I've got a funeral to go to so who knows, eh?

Bye.


	3. Obituary

_Disclaimer - I do not own Harry Potter or anything you see familiar, and if I did you would know because you wouldn't be seeing my fat ass here. I make no profit off this because if I did you would see me on tv. geez.  
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_Chapter three - _**Obituary **

_Five years later._

**---**

Many falls ago I would have told you the world was a fake, the world had no pity upon anyone even the ones who sacrificed the most for it. Imagine what a sight that would have been! Especially compared to now. I look back on the grim day, and I see how foolish I was. If what I wished for happened, what happiness would I have then?

Surly you know that when one commits a selfish death, one goes to the bulging belly of Hell?

Besides, what would I do with myself in there knowing how beautiful of a person my daughter would become? Oh, she is beautiful. At least, as much as a four year old can without being inhuman.

So darling she is. Bloody curls, beguilingly sweet emerald orbs for eyes, precious porcelain skin entwined with a personality that bears of huge heart of gold.

Oh dear, have I given you the wrong impression? Perhaps my descriptions are a bit too.. personal? But honestly, do you take me for a sick weirdo with that kind of time on my hands? Kind sir or madam, apparently you have not tried raising a wild spirit single handedly while protecting the world. Try it, go ahead.

No, that's not satire. I do not have time for that either.

You see, aurors don't have lives. Not even a high ranking one.. with a daughter.. and love interest.. What? No, no love interest! She was only a fling, I swear! Okay, fine, I lie.

Anyway. Why tell you this? Perhaps I should tell you all that has happened instead of rambling on about a sex life I _do not_ have. Not at all.

Right, I was in an emotional rut for the first few years, well acquainted with the back of a certain redheaded grandmother, and not so loved by sleep. If I learned nothing else, I did learn to stay at least five arm lengths away from the newly turned malevolent Molly when holding little Gin. Honestly, who would think a woman of her age had such quickness left in her stiffening joints?

To continue, the years were quiet, except when the little darling of my life caused mischief. Which was every day.. of every week.. of every month.. of every year. I have already started to grow gray hairs from the darling but I love her still.

And of the mischief? I'm sure I am to blame. Heaven knows it is because I am the only one living with her, says Matriarch Molly. Oh, she knows so little. I am _not_ the only one living with her. My other darling, Luna, lives with me and my girly mini-me. You see, we have recently 'hooked up' as these 'mature' teenagers say today.

No, I have not lied. She's not my love interest. More like infatuation. I hope sir or madam knows the difference between an interest and an infatuation. If not, I am not sure how sir or madam goes through life without a dictionary being slammed upside one's head. But perhaps sir or madam has been hit with a dictionary but not hard enough or are one of the few that screams immediately after being hit that one is a diva. If this is so, I hand you a knife now so that you may commit the ultimate sin and rid yourself a very deprived life.

Luna has been a dear to me these past years. Helping despite how much of an ass I was to her. And now my seed grows in her womb and we intended to marry.. sometime. We aren't all that rushed to tell the truth. But to be sure, we aren't at all sure what the Matriarch will say.. or do. I hope you understand my predicament sir or madam, because I know not how to explain it unless you yourself have once provoked a beaver to bite your genitals.

Don't laugh sir or madam, this is common! Many a good auror has lost a bit of his genitals or two by picking up a seemingly dead beaver. Surly sir or madam knew that or is sir or madam as thick as I am beginning to believe? But if sir or madam is how you say.. thick?.. then the knife is still being offered.

To be sure nonetheless, we will have Fred and George stationed next to her when the time comes. And that times grows ever nearer with each mile of country road we pass in this small car. For you see, it is little Gin's birthday and we are heading for the Burrow for her party. Ordinarily we would have flooed , but the spinning is too much on Luna's sensitive stomach.

Speaking of which, the mother-of-my-child-to-be has taken up an odd habit of counting butter beer caps. She tells me that counting the brightly colored caps drives away the nausea. I tried once last month when I had the flu. Needless to say it did not work as there is _still_ a stain in the carpet. But I don't question her methods; whatever makes Luna happy and well is fine with me.

"Daddy! Are we there _yet_?"

Oh, those dulcet tones. Gets it from her ole mum.

"No dear." I reply, flicking on the turn signal as I crossed into another lane.

"Why not?" she whines, flipping her tiny coloring book about.

"Because" Luna mutters, " your father had to buy this car and not the one _I_ suggested, little one." Her eyebrows knitted into one sleek blonde line as she kept count with her fingers. She seemed really into this counting.. perhaps it was time to stop and let the poor thing have a breather. But we were late enough as it is. She can suffer through another fifteen minutes.

Gin's bloody curls bounced in the rearview mirror in anger; she did not like being called 'little one'. I could imagine her button like nose scrunching up and her eyes flashing in tiny bouts of anger. That, too, she gets from her mother. The anger part, I mean.

"I'm not-" Gin began, but I had cut her off with a song that both ladies joined in happily. I wasn't in the mood for the two to start fighting nor did I want to detour to Saint Mungo's . The healer said not to get Luna too excited over anything. The Book said it would cause the baby complications. Why wasn't I informed of this when Gin was still in the womb? Healers these days..

"-and the babies on the bus go 'waa, waa, waa!" all through the town!"

"No, no! that's not how it goes Luna!"

Oh mercy. They're fighting. _Again. _

**---**

"Oh happy birthday pumpkin!"

"Gamumpherrrr!"

Haha. Gin's being squashed by her grandmother. Oh, wait.. I'm supposed to feel sorry. Right.

Oh no! Police! My horrid mother-in-law is squishing the life out of a daughter who wear's my ties as belts! Somebody save her! Quick like too!

Or not.

Serves the little bugger right. _She's _not the one who has to clean up the mess _she _made in the back seat. With the graham crackers and such. Besides, she's a Potter kid. She can take a little squishing.

"Oh Gin-Gin!" squeals Molly, petting Gin's head like that old, evil type woman from one of Gin's movies. " You look so beautiful! My you've grown since I've seen you!"

Sure she has, seeing how you saw her _just last week. _Old bat, and you stole her that time! I suppose it's time to save the fruit of Ginny's womb before it dies from deprivation of oxygen.

"Er, Molly," I interrupt hesitantly, "perhaps we should let Gin go. I'm sure she'd like to go play with her fie-cousins." And no, _I_ am not taking her out this time..

At this Gin's eyes lit up almost in an instant. She adored her cousins, the six year old twin fiends Marlow and Gideon George and Katie's children. Yes, I'm a bit hesitant. The distinct memory of Gideon calling the dead manticore we found last Easter 'kitty' and his twin sister squealing with joy came floating by my mind's eye. I'm not so sure whether or not Gin should go. But it's too late. Gin was already on her way out the door.

Silence feel upon the room. It's only myself, Luna, and Molly now. I feel Molly's eyes drifting over the two of us and her hand is twitching. Oh god! She _knows_. Damn those maternal instincts. Maybe if I cross my legs now she won't be able to get a hold of my genitals later. Really, wide open legs to a woman is like a sign from God saying "HEY! Rip his genitals out!" Slowly, oh so slowly, I lift my right leg and draped it over the top of my left knee. Molly reached out, I pulled my legs tighter. Oh, no, she was only reaching for her cup of tea. Oops.

"So.." Luna began, almost succeeding in crushing my hand. Oh, that's my wand hand! Why can't she signal conversations like a normal person of society? Right. Luna was never normal. Yes, I am an idiot. But a clever one mind you. "Molly-"

"Lunaspregnantandwearegettingmarried." And no, I'm not repeating that again… Any idiot can plainly tell what I'm saying. Well, the _other _clever one at least.

Molly looked like she understood that, or maybe the tilted expression is confusion..

"Come again?" She says, staring at me as if I were sprouting lilies from my hair. Yeah. It's definitely confusion. Don't they teach classes on how to talk idiot?

I lick my lips nervously and try to manage a smile. Yes, smile Harry, it confuses them..

"Molly," I say scrounging up as much courage as I can, "Luna is pregnant and we plan to marry."

There, I said it. Take that McGonagall!

The tea Molly had been drinking is now covering my very expensive, _clean_ green pinstripe shirt. Oh, never mind the shirt! My life and the lives of my future children are at stake now.

Molly's face resembled the poor squirrel I ran over a few days back; blotchy, nose askew, and rather scary looking.

"_Excuse me?" _Molly whispers placing her tea on the table.

Oh god, run Luna, run!

"I'm pregnant, Molly." Luna giggles, smiling happily.

Oh, you stupid, stupid woman! Get yourself and the kid killed why don't you!

I cringe, waiting for my impending doom. Heavenly father save me-

A minute passed…

..and another.

..then another.

Silence. This cannot be good. Where was the screaming, the strangling, the ripping of the genitals? Maybe she's just in shock. She'll start screaming soon. It's coming… now!

But nothing came.

I could feel Luna becoming antsy. Her palm felt sweaty through the sleeve of my shirts. Was she expecting bloody rage, too?

"Hun," Luna whispers quietly, eyeing the quiet matriarch, "shall I start writing your obituary now?"

And then it came. _The _growl. The growl to signal all growls, and, of course, my gruesome death. Goodbye cruel world!

"Harold James _Potter_-"

**---**

"See dear? It wasn't all that bad." says Luna, dabbing some god awful smelling potion over my blackened eye. "And Gin still had a wonderful birthday."

"_You_ weren't in her line of fire." I mumble and wince. Damn, this potion stings as much as it smells.

She and I were sitting in the kitchen of our house. Gin was upstairs, asleep for all we knew, and strangling the new white kitten she received. And she was too quiet; the kitten too. Maybe they died.. No, wait, I hear meowing and contented purrs. Never mind.

"But she didn't rip anything out."

"Yet. She's not done yet, I say! She wasn't done with me until after Gin could walk." I whine, poking Luna's side. She squirms, swatting my hand away.

"I better write your obituary then."

"Thanks."

"What?" She says, pulling away, hands on her hips. No, no, no! Not that stance, puh-_lease_!

"Nothing, nothing dear!" I say hurriedly.

Her eyes narrow. No, baaaad sign. Talk sweet Harry, these pregnancy hormones love that. I smile and get up, and wrap my arms around her waist.

"Really, darling, I mean nothing. You know how idiots get-"

"Are you saying I'm an idiot?"

"No, no! I'm saying that I'm an idiot!"

"So you're saying that I'm an idiot too because I'm with you?" Blue eyes sparkle with tears. No, nooo. No cry! I hate it when she cries.

Think, Potter, think! Aah.. Yes, of course.

"Darling, if you're an idiot then we're a match made! Idiots can't function without another clever idiot at their side!" I whisper feebly. Oh please- yes! I see no tears! Instead- oh- is that lust? Yes, yes it is. I should personally thank whoever said 'Ignorance is bliss.'

Oh, wait, that's not lust, but anger!

"Fine, but it's your obituary"

Damn. Oh, dear obituary, you and I shall be great and wonderful comrades before these nine months are over.

_  
-le fin_

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Right, so, this is the last and final chapter. I'm sure you all are about as happy as I am to see this over and done with. I'm so sorry it took me so long! I had a few more deaths in the family, my father uprooted me in the middle of a term and placed me here in Iowa, and my level of stress has sky rocketed. I lost my writing funk in that time, but it returned just shortly after Christmas. I would have had this out earlier, but my teachers find it funny to pile tons of projects on me.

So, I'd like to thank Jazz and Sasha and everyone else that reviewed. And a **big** thanks to Nate and his weird ways. All of you cause me great insanity. Thanks for putting up with me. I'll be back before you know it, bearing something new and revised. **dun dun duuuun. **

Right, so, pray that I'm morbidly depressed when I start writing again.

-**K**it


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